


Mismatched

by speccygeekgrrl



Category: Mystery Science Theater 3000
Genre: Gen, Max is being targeted, Not by Kinga, Socks, Sort Of Fluff, for a change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 05:11:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11097594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/speccygeekgrrl/pseuds/speccygeekgrrl
Summary: Max is picky about his socks. This is problematic when they start disappearing. Where are they going? Moon 13 is a closed system. They have to still be here somewhere.





	Mismatched

**Author's Note:**

> The random prompt was "socks" and "hurt/comfort". Well, this is as close to the second as I can get without getting shippy, and... I don't know, I hope this makes someone laugh, at least.

If you had asked Max what the worst thing about living on the moon would be before he actually went up there, socks wouldn't have even made the top twenty list. But now that he was here, they were what was driving him nuts.

Moon 13 was a closed system. There was no place for the socks to go. And yet, every load of laundry came out less at least one sock. This would have been manageable if Max were the type of person to wear plain white socks. That was not the type of person he was. Max was the type of person who took a lot of enjoyment from wearing weird, colorful socks under his standard work uniform. He soon found himself owning only a few complete pairs and a whole lot of single socks. 

He was pretty sure no one would notice if he wore unmatched socks, but it would bother the hell out of him all day knowing they didn't match. He had to resort to hand-washing and hang-drying the remaining pairs to make sure none would get lost in the laundry.

Then he came back into his room to find one sock missing from each of the three hanging pairs and almost cried. The only complete pair he had left were the ones on his feet. He'd have to start mismatching them.

"What's your problem?" Kinga asked the next day. "You're shoegazing like an 80s goth kid."

"Nothing, I'm fine," Max said quickly. He wasn't fine. His socks were different textures and it was driving him fucking crazy. She gave him a suspicious look but let it drop. He caught her giving him that look several more times over the next couple of hours, and it got harder and harder to ignore the fact that one of his feet was sweaty and the other one was itchy and the contrast was making him lose his mind.

"You are acting so weird," she said around mid-afternoon, leaning against a lab table with a mug of coffee clasped between both hands. "I've never seen you this fidgety before."

"Sure you have."

"When?"

"Uh, remember that time you added liquid caffeine to my soda?" 

"I wasn't trying to kill you," she said quickly.

"Why is that even the first thing your mind jumps to?! Now that you said it I don't believe it. I thought you were just using me as a guinea pig but that was a little too prompt of a rebuttal."

"Oh, please, you didn't even notice the first two days I did it. I was trying to maximize your productivity, not kill you."

"Yeah, tell that to my heart murmur."

"I haven't been slipping you caffeine today," she said with a dismissive wave of one hand. "What's your problem?" He stared at her for a second, sighed, and tugged up the legs of his pants to display his socks. "Are those... tacos on the left sock?" He nodded. "And what are those on the right?"

"Mer-kittens," he said very quietly. She snorted into her coffee.

"I'm sorry, I thought you just said mer-kittens?"

"Yeah, look." He came over to her and propped his foot on the leg of the lab table, showing off multicolored kittens with mermaid tails.

"Where the hell did you get those?"

"They were a gift," he said. "From my cousin."

"Well, where's the other one? I imagine that's not the way they came." He gave her a sideways glance, but she seemed honest enough in her inquiry.

"My socks have been going missing."

"What, in the wash?"

"Most of them were in the wash but a couple of them were taken right out of my bedroom."

"You're being targeted by a sock thief," she said flatly, but he could see her biting her lip to keep a straight face. "So why are you so weird today?"

"They feel different and it's really distracting."

"God, you _are_ weird. Don't you have any matching ones left?"

"Only one pair. All the rest are singles." She bit her lip harder and he revised his estimation toward her being guilty.

"Are you going to be a big weirdo as long as you're wearing unmatched socks?"

"Probably."

"Seriously?" She rolled her eyes, put down her mug, and pushed off the lab table heading out the door, beckoning him after her with an imperious gesture. He shrugged and followed her all the way to her room, getting more and more puzzled as they went along. He paused in the doorway, having never crossed the threshold before, but she snorted. "Come in already."

Her room was... surprisingly normal. A bit Spartan, even. No art on the walls, no knickknacks on the dresser, everything in its place and hidden away. He never would have expected such order from the force of chaos he loved. She rummaged in a drawer and started throwing pairs of socks at him. The first pegged him squarely in the forehead and fell to the floor. The second hit him in the chest. By the third, he realized what was going on and started catching them. "What--?"

"I hate these socks," she said quickly. "They were all gifts. I don't like colorful socks but try telling that to my grandmother, ha. She's never given me a practical gift in my life."

"If you don't like them, why did you bring them to the moon?" She pretended not to hear him, pitching a couple more pairs at him before shutting her drawer and turning around. He'd caught four pairs and bent to pick up the first two from the floor, looking at the socks curiously. Spaceship socks. Godzilla socks. Sea monster socks. Spider socks. He looked up, puzzled. "She gave you horror movie socks?"

"She wanted to encourage me to keep my mind on the mission," Kinga said, lips twisting wryly. "As if I need to be reminded. Anyways, you can have them if it'll get you to stop being so damn unsettled. You've been making me nervous all day long."

"I'm sorry," he said reflexively, and she rolled her eyes. "Uh... thank you, Kinga."

"Don't mention it. And try not to lose these? I don't have another random stash to dip into."

"I'll do my best." He hesitated again, and she cocked her head at him. "...nothing. Just, thanks." She waved him out and closed the door behind him, and he stood in the hallway looking down at his armful of very nice socks for a second before he shrugged, smiled, and went to go put them in the only locked drawer in his bedroom. Like hell he'd let something she'd personally given him go missing.

Up on the Satellite of Love, the tube came down and dropped three unique socks in the middle of the bridge. "Aw, yeah!" Crow cheered, stooping to pick them up. "My sock collection is coming along so nicely."

"Where are you even getting those?" Jonah asked. "And where are you keeping them? And what are you doing with them?"

"Don't ask questions you don't want the answers to," Tom said solemnly. Jonah's brow furrowed.

"But I _do_ want the answers..."

" _Don't. Ask._ " Tom repeated, and Jonah gulped. 

"Okay! Okay. You guys... enjoy your socks... or whatever. I'm just gonna... go over there." He pointed vaguely in the direction of away and then went there. Tom hovered over and looked at the socks.

"What the hell are those?"

"I don't know... mer-kittens?" Crow said.

"Why would anyone have mer-kitten socks?"

"Don't ask me, ask Max."


End file.
